


that inspector calls fanfiction i wrote as a big fuck you to my english teacher. this goes out to my lad priestley

by foxmulder_whereartthou



Category: An Inspector Calls - Priestley
Genre: Drunkenness, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmulder_whereartthou/pseuds/foxmulder_whereartthou
Summary: hhhh this takes place after the second inspector has left and gerald’s fucked off and everyone’s basically a messi needed my sheila and eric sibling time okednas baby





	that inspector calls fanfiction i wrote as a big fuck you to my english teacher. this goes out to my lad priestley

Perched on the end of his parent’s bed, Eric poured himself another glass of god-knows-what - he didn’t even bother to check the bottle, he stopped doing that a while ago. It didn’t matter - he didn’t care anymore. He downed the glass in one go, the unfamiliar taste burning his throat just as the huge, mahogany door to his left swung open and a flurry of light waded into the room.

Sheila; her shadow framed against the candelabra opposite the entrance, gingerly stepped into the room and took in the pathetic sight of her disheveled, not-quite-drunk-enough brother.

Biting her lip, she sidled into his line of sight.   
“Hallo, Eric,” she choked out, “How are you?”

Suddenly, aggressively indignant, he smashed the glasses on the floor and yelled, “How the hell do you think I am?”, before collapsing amongst the stained carpet and broken glass to sob, hot tears pouring down his cheeks in utter despair and anger.

Without hesitation, she hurried over to him, kneeling down in the sea of sharp bottles, and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Eric,” she whispered, her voice soft and light and as comforting as she could muster, “I’m sorry. It’s all right, let's get you out of all this glass, I don’t want you hurt.”

She tried to wipe the tears from his face, but her efforts were in vain as old tear tracks were replaced by new ones. However, although he felt wildly embarrassed, Eric didn’t protest as she picked him up (she was surprisingly strong, her lithe frame betraying her) and carried him down the hall to her rooms.

Meekly, he murmured,”Thanks, Sheila, but I don’t think my drunkenness impedes my ability to walk.”

Returning from a side room with a washcloth, she shot back, “It does. I’ve seen you traipsing around the halls like a little ballet dancer,” a smirk painting her lips. Propping him up against the bedcushions and blankets, she dabbed at a cut on his cheek, much like a mother would.

Their mother was never there to help with grazed knees or nightmares, all she did was provide them with substitutions - like nannies and Edna. It’s not that they didn’t like Edna - no, not at all, they adored her - but the closest they got to that familial warmth they craved was each other.

“Remember when I fell in the creek,” Eric started, wistfully, “That night I snuck out without telling father?”   
“Oh! Yes, I rescued you with the rope from my doll’s hair,” Sheila laughed, “Mother was so mad at me for ruining it.”

As the night wore on, they let their stories and insults and jokes drown out the fierce argument 

that raged on downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> writing an essay on arthur birlings bitchass <<<<< writing this fic


End file.
